


The Set Up

by Nevermore_red



Series: Lost and Found [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 02:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6034267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevermore_red/pseuds/Nevermore_red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set up on a date neither wanted, will the night be the disaster they imagined, or could it maybe be just what they were looking for?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Set Up

You've got to be kidding me." Sansa laughed lightly as she sipped her wine. A glance at her supposed best friend told her she was, in fact, not joking.

"What's the big deal?" Margaery asked, refilling her own wine. "I promised Bronn I would find him a date."

"But you're talking about Sandor Clegane." Sansa stared wide eyed at her friend. "He doesn't even like me. No, no, he _loathes_ me. Why on Earth would he want to go on a date with me?" The way Margaery absently twirled her wine glass around without meeting Sansa's gaze told her Sandor didn't know. "You mean he doesn't even know?"

"You know how he is." Marg shrugged.

"Exactly!" Sansa threw both hands up. "I do know how he is. He's rude and foul mouthed and short tempered and he puts me down every time I'm around him. So, again, I ask you, why me?"

Margaery sighed and gave her a sympathetic look. "Honestly, you're my only single friend. And Bronn is worried about him. He hardly ever stays the night at my house anymore because he feels bad for leaving Sandor alone at home. And we rarely go out on the weekends without him tagging along. It's driving me insane. I need some good alone time with my man, Sansa."

Sansa traced the rim of her wineglass while she thought it over. She did feel a little bad for Margaery. She and Bronn hadn't been dating that long, or at least not officially even though they'd been shagging for over a year. They were still in the first stage where constant sex was a must and they wanted to be together all the time. It would only be one night. A short dinner and a night away from Netflix wouldn't kill her.

"What do I get in return?" she finally asked.

Margaery squealed and bounced in her seat a little. "How's a bottle of Trimbach Riesling and the use of my French chateau anytime during this winter sound?"

Sansa smiled. It was a better deal then she had in mind. But then again, Margaery Tyrell didn't hurt for money.

"Deal. As long as he agrees."

 

*

 

"Fuck off." Sandor snapped, finishing off the last of his beer and glaring at Bronn. "And don't try and take the piss with me."

"I'm not taking a piss, mate." Bronn laughed. "You do remember how to date, don't you?"

Sandor glared at the other man, debating on punching him or not. "Why in the ever loving fuck would I want to go on a date with Sansa fucking Stark?"

A knowing smile curled Bronn's lip and Sandor scowled harder. "It's pretty damn obvious you fancy the girl. Not that I can blame you. She's a right fine sight and sweet as can be. 'Sides, it's just one night. I'm not asking you to marry the chit. Just take her out. Wine and dine her. And stay the fuck out of the house for the night so I can finally get laid right proper all night long."

"What in the bloody hell makes you think she'd even agree?" Sandor jerked another beer from the fridge. "Girls like Sansa like pretty boys. Rich boys. What makes you think I can even afford to wine and dine someone like her?"

Bronn sat back and crossed his arms over his lean chest. "First, because Margaery already got her to agree. Second, Sansa doesn't know what she likes right now. Not after...well, you know. And third, I'm not a complete idiot. I do know how much money you make, seeing as I'm co owner of the boxing gym. Hells, Sandor, you could afford to live on your own in a much nicer house if you wanted to."

Sandor stewed over that for a moment. Sansa had agreed. He wasn't delusional enough to think she'd agreed out of some latent desire for him. He was a right prick and he knew it. But, it was still a night with her. Alone. And Bronn was right, he did make more than enough to afford to take her some place up her hoity toity alley. Not that he was going to. If they were going out and he was paying, he was taking her somewhere he'd feel comfortable. And that wasn't in some five fucking star French restaurant.

"What'll you give me?"

"What do you want?"

"A cask of Bell's." The scotch was his favorite and Bronn nodded. "And you clean the damn head for the next week at the gym."

Bronn laughed at his last second stipulation. "Fine. It's a deal. Just remember, Hound, before you let the little doggy out to play make sure you put on the proper gear."

 

*

 

To say Sansa was surprised that Sandor had agreed was an understatement. She was nervous and she hated that. It felt like it had been a lifetime since she had to deal with a first date. Although this wasn't really a date. But she was going to dress to impress. Sandor always made her feel inferior to him, so she was going to be a knock out and make him feel a little less superior. He'd chosen the place. A bar uptown. Nothing fancy, not that she expected anything fancy from a man like him. She chose a pair of black skinny jeans that made her bum look nice and her legs look even longer than they already were and paired them with a chambray button up that she tucked in. Leaving her hair down with minimal makeup, she slipped on her charcoal heels, glad for once that she wouldn't feel like a giant next to man in them. Sandor was well over a foot taller than her. Being close to six foot herself, it was hard to be able to wear heels around men without being taller than them. At least that was one thing she wouldn't have to worry about with Sandor. Grabbing her purse, she headed to the bar.

Sandor wasn't waiting for her outside like a gentleman would have, but she expected nothing else. He was easy to spot in the bar. He would be easy to spot anywhere with his giant height and scarred face. He was sitting at the far end, glaring at his pint of beer as if it had personally offended him. He looked nice enough. Nice jeans, a black Henley and his long hair brushed over his scars. When she got close enough, he glanced up and seen her. His scowl neither intensified or dwindled. Sansa smiled sweetly at him.

"Good evening, Mr. Clegane." She glanced around the bar. It was nice, modern, but with a rustic industrial feel. "Nice bar."

"You going to just stand there, or are you going to sit? he tilted his head to the barstool next to him. "And drop the fucking 'Mr. Clegane' shite."

Sansa bit her tongue to keep from pointing out he hadn't invited her to sit yet. He wouldn't stand on such ceremony so she shouldn't expect it.

"Of course." she slid into the stool facing him. "Thank you." She crossed her legs at the knee and was somewhat satisfied when he eyed the length of her legs before turning back to his beer. A beat of awkward silence went by before the bartender made his way to where she sat.

"What can I get for you, love?" he leaned onto his elbows, flashing her a smile full of white teeth.

"A glass of wine, please. Whatever you have that's white."

"Sure thing, doll." he pushed off the bar with a wink and went to get her drink.

"Hope he doesn't drool into your wine." Sandor mumbled, taking a swig of his beer. Sansa eyed him but he wouldn't turn to face her. A moment later the bartender showed back up with her wine.

"There you go, love." he pushed it across to her. "That all you need for now?" Sansa fidgeted in her stool, a little uncomfortable with the way he was leering at her and speaking so suggestively.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"You can put that on my tab." Sandor growled, drawing the bartenders attention. His eyes went a little wide, flashing back and forth between them.

"'Course. Sorry, mate." he cleared his throat. "You need anything else, sir?"

"Fuck your sir." Sandor rasped. "I'm good." he lifted his still full beer. The bartender nodded and quickly left.

"Shall we get a table?" Sansa asked once he was gone.

"Why?" he finally looked at her. "I'm perfectly comfortable."

"Yes, well, I'm not. The bartenders eyes can't seem to stay away from the gap in my shirt and it makes me uncomfortable."

Sandor pointedly looked at said gap and took a long drawl off his beer. Oddly enough, it didn't make her as uncomfortable as when the bartender had done it.

"I see one in the corner that looks nice." she ignored his leering, knowing it was only a ploy to make her uncomfortable. Well, she would show him. Sliding off her stool, she grabbed her wine glass and made her way through the few tables to the one near the back wall for two not bothering to see if Sandor was following her. Sitting down she smoothed a napkin on the tabletop and sat her glass down. A moment later Sandor dropped into he chair across from her.

"So how is work at the gym?" she asked politely, knowing he wouldn't strike up an easy conversation with her. Sandor wasn't well versed in the art of small talk. For a long moment he just scowled a her. It was always impressive that he could manage such a disdainful expression with only a single eyebrow.

"Why do you care?" he sneered. "It's not like you'd understand a damn thing that goes on in a boxing gym anyway."

Sansa sucked in a slow breath through her nose. "Look, Sandor, we can spend this evening being complete arses to each other, silently complaining to ourselves about how neither of us wants to be here and end the night miserably. Or, we could make the best of it. I for one am happy to be out of the house for once. This bar is nice and the wine is good. And now I have a bottle of Riesling and a weekend in France to look forward to, so I plan on enjoying tonight." she leveled him with a look. "So, what are you going to do? Wallow in self pity at being on a forced date with a girl you cant stand, or suck it up and enjoy an evening out with a good bitter?"

He was silent for a long time, eyeing her with those intense grey eyes of his. Sizing her up, it seemed.

"So your getting a bottle of wine and weekend in France for tonight?"

"I am. And I make the assumption that Bronn made you a deal as well." she took a sip of her wine.

"Aye, that he did. Though I think I'm getting the worse of it. I only asked for a cask of Bell's."

"Bell's? Robb loves Bell's. I've never had the palate for scotch myself, but I hear it's good."

"I like it well enough. Not near as expensive as the wine you're getting I'm sure, especially with a weekend in France."

"Yes, well, I'm not a cheap date, Sandor." she grinned at him and to her surprise he grinned back, trying to hide it behind a drink of his beer.

"Never thought you were." he finally said and Sansa actually felt a blush coming on. She shifted in her chair so she faced him more fully.

"You know, I actually do know quite a lot about boxing." she told him, trying not to sound so haughty. "My father was always a big fan. And both my older brothers boxed when they were a bit younger. Jon stuck with it and actually won a few titles. And my youngest brother, Rickon, has boxed for the last couple of years. Robb and Jon say he's very good."

"I've seen your older brothers fight. And I'm well aware how good Rickon is." he took a long drink of his beer. "I'm his trainer."

Sansa sat staring at him wide eyed. "What?" she finally managed. "I had no idea. How did I not know this? He only ever calls his trainer 'dog' or 'hound'. I wasn't even aware he trained at S&B."

"He transferred to our gym after I watched him fight about six months back. The kid had potential but shite training. Bronn and I talked to him after the match and he agreed to come over to us. And I am the Hound. None of the gym goers call me anything else."

"And what's the story behind that nickname?" she asked, leaning across the table a little. He eyed her for a moment, surprisingly more her face and eyes then her now more exposed décolletage.

"I'm as ugly as a dog with the bark and bite to match." he finally answered before a swig of bitter.

"That's a terrible reason behind a nickname. That seems more like mocking."

"It was." he shrugged his big shoulders. "But once I accepted it and owned it, no one could use it against me. 'Sides, we don't really have a choice in the nicknames others give us." he grinned at her. "Do we, little bird?"

 

*

 

Sandor enjoyed the way she blushed a little at the taunting moniker that he'd called her some while back. He had been mocking her, of course. For some reason it made him feel better when he managed to take her down a peg or two. Rich chit had always had everything handed to her on a silver fucking platter. He'd assumed she was just as haughty and vain as every other entitled prat he'd ever met. When he realized she wasn't, it just pissed him off. No one should be that pretty, that wealthy, and that sweet. So he'd made it his goal in life to make her unhappy. To force the ugliness of the world down her throat so maybe she wouldn't smile so much. She had too pretty of a smile anyway. It just reminded him of how ugly and miserable he was. The first time he'd called her little bird he'd been in a shite mood and then she'd shown up with Margaery all smiles and sweet chirping. Such empty bullshit. So he'd mocked her until she wasn't smiling anymore. That had only served to put him a worse mood. He'd called her it on occasion after that, but only one night stuck out in his mind. He'd been drunk and she'd been outside at a party, crying over her cunt of a boyfriend or some such shite. Sandor had found out when he went outside to mock her that her bottom lip was bleeding and there was a bruise already forming under one brilliantly blue eye. He wasn't exactly sure what all he'd said to her that night. He vaguely remembered promising her he'd kill whomever hurt her. He most definitely remember the burning rage. She'd denied his help, of course, and that had made him more mad. The rest was a blur, but he recalled pressing her into the outside wall and whispering little bird in her ear. He was pretty sure he meant to kiss her. Possibly more. And that thought horrified him, so he'd shoved her back into the bench seat on the patio and stormed off inside. He'd found Marg and told her to go help Sansa and then he'd talked Bronn into telling him who Sansa's boyfriend was. They found the little golden cunt outside a nearby club in the back alley. He was with a single guard. Bronn took care of him while Sandor taught the whelp a lesson he wouldn't soon forget. One that necessitated a trip to hospital. It was a lucky thing it had been dark outside, and that the boy had been in the process of doing a line of coke, so he didn't say much to the police about what happened. And hadn't seen Sandor or Bronn well enough to give a good description of them either. It had been a stupid thing to do. Risky. Ill advised. And he'd do it again in a heartbeat if that cunt so much as breathed on his little bird again.

"You know, most people call the Starks wolves." she turned sideways in her chair, those long legs of hers crossing while she leaned an elbow on the table. "I think I'd much rather be a wolf than a bird."

"Gotta have bite to be a wolf, little bird." he purposefully called her that again to see if he could get a rise out of her. Instead, a grin pulled up the corner of her mouth. An odd grin, one that he could only call...hot. Taunting. A wicked glint in her blue eyes.

"Oh, I can bite." she picked up her wine glass and brought it to her lips. "With the right provocation, of course."

Sandor froze. Was...was she _flirting_ with him? Women rarely flirted with him, especially women who looked like Sansa. He wasn't quite sure what to do.

"I'd watch it, girl." he warned her. "Dogs bite back."

"Well, I should hope so." she shot him that grin again, and it went straight to his groin.

Sandor rubbed his bottom lip. She'd surprised him, he'd give her that. Not turning him on. That wasn't surprising. She'd always done that, with very little effort on her part. But she was trying. Maybe he owed Bronn a cask instead of the other way around. They ordered dinner after that, simple bar food. It was entertaining to watch someone with as much class as Sansa dig into a plate of nachos without a seeming care in the world for all the cheese and chili that was getting all over her fingers and mouth. And she actually held conversation that didn't bore him to tears. She actually did know a lot about boxing. He wondered what she would look like in a pair of trunks and a sports bra going at a bag. The mental image both made him laugh and made him go hard.

They'd just finished their meals and she was on her third glass of wine when her foot connected with his calf under the table. He brushed it off as an accident at first, because she never missed a beat while she was talking. Then he heard the subtle thud of her heel dropping to the floor and her foot was back on his calf, dragging up and down ever so delicately. He schooled his face into an emotionless mask as he watched her face. Talking about something as innocent as upcoming university graduation, her cheeks coloured nicely, her blue eyes holding his with a teasing glint in them as her foot continued it's slow travel up his calf to his knee.

"What's wrong, Sandor?" she asked him with a grin when he swallowed hard. "You look a little flushed."

His eyes narrowed at her teasing and before her little foot could retreat he caught her ankle in his hand. Her eyes went wide and she jumped a little, but she didn't pull away.

"Nothing's wrong." he taunted her, pressing the arch of her foot into the inside of his thigh and pulling it up until it cupped his erection. Her mouth fell open and the light pink of her cheeks rushed to a deep red that started to spread down her neck and chest. "What about you, Sansa?" he asked, holding her foot to his hard on with one had while the other slid up her ankle and kneaded gently. "You look awfully flushed yourself. Too much wine perhaps?"

She let out a long breath and then laughed lightly. "Or not enough. One of the two."

Sandor chuckled himself, letting go of her foot with the hand that had it trapped to his erection so he could pick up his pint, but left his other hand resting on her ankle, his thumb absently rubbing circles on the soft skin next to her Achilles tendon.

"You want another glass?" he asked, tipping his head to her almost empty wine. Still smiling softly, she shook her head no and picked up the glass to finish it off. He did the same with his beer then gently removed her foot from his lap and motioning to the waitress for the ticket. Sansa grabbed her purse from behind her chair and pulled out her wallet.

"What in the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he asked with his one brow raised.

"I'll pay for my half."

"The fuck you are." Her eyes jerked up to his as she clenched her wallet tightly. "You're not paying, Sansa."

"Why not? I'm more than capable..."

"Oh, I'm well aware of you're wealth, Miss Stark, but I can bloody well afford to pay for a date." the waitress showed up then and before she could set the ticket on the table, Sandor handed her his card. Sansa huffed.

"Then at least let me leave the tip."

"You do know it's pretty traditional for the guy to pay for the date, don't you?"

"Yes, but you do know this isn't the nineteen fifties don't you?" then she added, softly, "Besides, this was a forced date. The least I can do..."

"The least you can do is allow me some semblance of dignity and let me pay the fucking bill." he sighed, running his hand over his scars. "Forced or not, this was a date. Wasn't it?"

She was silent for a long time, chewing her bottom lip. "Yes. I think so. Or, at least, I'd like for it to have been. I've actually enjoyed this evening."

He tried not to let her see just how much a relief that was. "Good. So you'll let me pay without the production."

Smiling, she shoved her wallet back into her purse "Fine. You win." The waitress returned with the tab and he quickly signed it before leading Sansa out of the bar.

"How'd you get here?"

"The tube." she pulled her purse farther up on her shoulder. "You?"

"A cab." he hesitated. "You're not riding the tube alone at this time of night."

"So you're my keeper now?" she grinned. "I am capable of taking care of myself. I even have a can of mace in my bag."

He nodded, still uncomfortable with it. He was pretty sure Sansa could take care of herself, and the tubes were generally safe, especially in these parts of the city, but still. And maybe, just maybe, he was looking for a way to continue the night.

"But if you're that worried about it," she started softly, almost hesitantly. "you could ride the tube with me back to my place and catch a cab from there." she looked up at him and met his gaze uncertainly. "Or not. You could, you know. Stay. If you'd like, that is."

He took a moment before he spoke, letting the dizziness from the rush of blood to his groin pass. "Where do you live?" he asked, starting in the direction of the tube entrance.

"A flat on the upper east side." She shocked the hell out of him by walking so close to his side her arm brushed against his. The entire right side of his body was tingling from the contact. They didn't speak again until they were situated and headed towards the upper east side. Sansa crossed her legs in a way that angled her body into his, the side of her body pressed up against his. He lifted his arm and draped it awkwardly across her shoulders. A moment later she let her head fall onto his shoulder and reached across for his other hand and pulled it into her lap, tracing a delicate finger across the backs of his knuckles.

"I didn't now your hand was burnt as well." she finally spoke, tipping her head up to look at him.

"Aye." he swallowed. "Most of that shoulder as well."

"What happened?" she asked, then quickly shook her head. "Never mind. You don't have to answer that. I'm sorry."

He nodded in acceptance of her apology, biting back a bitter and cruel retort. For the first time ever he didn't want to push her away, not when it seemed like he was getting ready to be able to fuck her like he'd always imagined. But he wasn't going to answer that question either.

"You live alone?" he asked, changing the subject.

"I do." she relaxed back into him, still tracing irrational patterns on the back of his hand. "My father hates it that I do. He says it's unsafe. But Robb lived alone before he married Jeyne. And Jon lives alone. I don't see the difference." Sandor could think of a million differences, namely the rate of violence against women as opposed to men, but he decided to hold his tongue on that.

"What about your sister? And the other two brothers?"

"Arya doesn't live here anymore. She's in training for MI5. Bran lives in the dorms at Uni, and Rickon still lives at home." she looked up at him again. "What about you? Do you have any siblings?"

He went ridged for a moment, consumed with memories of a brother that never loved him and a sister that died too soon. He shook them off, unwilling to let Gregor ruin another thing in his life.

"None living." Her eyes flew up to his, the pity in them making him nauseous. He didn't want her pity. He wanted her lust. It might not have been the best moment, or the most smooth move, but before she could say her sickeningly sweet words of sorrow he pressed his mouth to hers and promptly lost all train of thought. Her lips were just as soft as he'd always imagined, pillowing his gently. For a second she didn't react, then she was kissing him back, angling herself closer to him. The arm he had draped over her shoulders pulled her tighter into him, his head angling the side while his tongue pushed into the sweetness of her mouth. She matched his heat, threading her fingers into his hair while her tongue danced with his. He couldn't fucking believe it. He was snogging Sansa fucking Stark on the goddamn tube.

"Oi!" The shout came from behind Sansa, causing her to jump away from him. "Get a bloody room why dontcha?" Sandor sat up straighter, glaring over her shoulder at the cunt that had disrupted them. The young boy paled under his gaze, quickly looking away from them and scooting a little further away from Sansa. A light slap to his pec brought his attention back to Sansa. She was grinning softly, her cheeks warmed with a blush, her lips reddened from his scarred ones. For some reason that look caused his anger to evaporate.

 

*

 

Sansa couldn't stop grinning as she led Sandor down the sidewalk by his hand in hers. Part of her was screaming at how awful an idea this was, but she couldn't quite make herself care. Tonight he'd been a different Sandor Clegane. Not quite sweet, but less harsh. And he'd made her laugh a lot. Most importantly he made her feel unpressured. Every aspect of her life always came with pressure. Pressure at school to be the best. Pressure at home to be the perfect lady. Pressure with her friends to fit in. Back when she'd been with Joffrey there had been pressure to be perfect. With Sandor she felt she could finally breath and just...be.

And that kiss. Oh, boy. Who would have thought the big, scary, scarred up, and rough bloke that Sandor was could kiss so...so...wonderfully. Her lips still tingled and she was pretty sure she'd felt it all the way in her toes. She was silently thanking her uni roommate, Randa, for introducing her to sexy underwear. Randa had once said that as long as you were wearing a pair of lacy knickers that made you feel sexy, you could conquer the world. Sansa wasn't so sure about world domination, but it did have the effect of making her feel more confident. And now it seemed someone else would benefit from the satin and lace garment.

When they got to her building she typed in the security code and practically dragged him across the marble foyer, casting a half hearted wave at her doorman.

"My flat is on the sixth floor." she told him as they stepped into the lift and she punched the number. She wasn't sure why she was telling him that, other than she was nervous out of her mind and she tended to babble when she was nervous.

"Then there's time for this." With a hand on her belly, he backed her into the lift wall and trapped her against it with his body, bending until he could claim her lips again. Good gods, who taught this man to kiss? He kissed her like it would be the last time his lips would ever touch another persons. It was consuming and enthralling. Not to mention what his hands were doing. She hadn't even been aware he was undoing the buttons of her top until she felt his calloused fingertip glide down her chest and sternum, bumping over where her bra cups connected and stopping at her navel where he'd stopped unbuttoning, tracing around it softly, causing gooseflesh to raise along her skin. Not to be outdone, she shoved both her hands underneath the back of his shirt to touch hot bare skin. He growled softly against her lips as she trailed her fingernails lightly up his spine, arching into her almost like a cat. That thought made her smile. Dog her arse.

The lift dinged, signaling they'd reached her floor, and the doors slid open. When they heard a pointed throat clearing, Sansa jerked her mouth from his, just seeing old Mrs. Nan standing at the doors. Sandor, the big lugg, turned around but kept his body blocking hers so her exposed torso wouldn't be seen.

"Ma'am." he nodded at her as if they'd been doing nothing more untoward then holding a conversation about the weather. Which Mrs. Nan had to know wasn't true. She'd seen Sandor practically devouring her. Not to mention Sansa knew for a fact Sandor was sporting a hard on, which had to be noticable through his trousers if the line of Mrs. Nan's sight was any indication. Sandor reached behind him and grabbed her wrist to pull her out of the lift, always keeping his body blocking hers from the old lady.

"Good evening, Mrs. Nan." Sansa called over her shoulder as the lift doors closed on the old woman's gaped mouth. Once it was shut all the way Sansa punched Sandor's shoulder. "You could have waited until we got to my flat." she scolded him, pulling her wrist away and starting on the buttons.

"Calm down, girl." he chuckled darkly. "She didn't see anything." Sansa pointedly looked at his crotch. Yep. There was definite bulging going on in that department.

"Alright, fine." he readjusted himself without a care in the world. "So she noticed my boner. But she didn't see anything of you, did she?"

"No, I suppose she didn't." Sansa conceded. "Thank you for that, by the way."

"Fuck your thanks, little bird." he grumbled. "You can thank me properly in your flat if you wouldn't mind getting a move on." Sansa giggled and led him down the hall to her flat. Typing in another security code, she unlocked the door and let him in, switching on the light as she stepped in behind him. She half expected him to turn on her and slam her against the door and start ravishing her. Not that she would have minded that. Actually, the thought made her already damp knickers even more uncomfortable. Instead he stepped through the small entryway and into her living room, casting a look around, taking in her high end furniture, her state of the art TV and wall full of books.

"You like it?" She asked, stepping up to stand next to him.

"Honestly?" he looked down at her. "No. It's far too girly and that sofa looks entirely uncomfortable. Nice TV, though."

Slightly offended, even if she did agree the sofa wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, she frowned at him and he laughed.

"I didn't come for the decor, Miss Stark." he turned to her and started undoing her buttons again. "I came for the view."

Sansa laughed lightly and then helped him by pulling the shirt free of her jeans and undoing the bottom buttons. He stepped back from her and leaned back on the back of her uncomfortable sofa with his arms crossed, his one brow lifted as she removed the shirt.

"Nice bra." Sansa blushed, unused to such an intimate persual of her nearly naked torso. The bra was purple with satin cups and a little silver bow between them. "Let's see if the knickers match." he challenged, nodding towards her jeans. With shaky hands, Sansa undid the button and zip of her jeans and shimmied them off her hips before stepping out of her heels to remove them the rest of the way. Her knickers, in fact, did match. The same purple only with lace to go with the satin, and a matching sliver bow just over her mound. Sandor studied her silently for a moment. His only reaction was the darkening of his unscarred cheek. Then those steel grey eyes met hers again.

"Put the heels back on and come here."

Sansa laughed again. "I wasn't aware I was going to be putting on a show."

A slow curling of the good side of his mouth was her only response.

"You're overdressed." she told him. "Take your shirt and trousers off and I'll put on the heels." He hesitated for a second, his eyes flicking to the overhead light that was shinning, then back at her. She got the impression he was...nervous. Maybe even ashamed. That confused her. What did he have to be ashamed of? The guy was perfectly cut. There wasn't a single ounce of fat on his body. But he was scarred. And he'd said the scars from his face went as far as his shoulder. It wasn't a stretch to imagine they weren't his only scars. And it also wasn't a stretch to think that he probably didn't have many women fawning over him. With that in mind, Sansa gave him a coy smile and slipped her heels back on.

"Or I could always help you with that." she strode to him as sexily as she could manage without looking like she was trying. That flicker of uncertainty vanished from his eyes, replaced by awed hunger. When she got in front of him, she ran her nails from his chest to the waistband of his jeans. "You don't mind, do you?" she asked softly, rubbing her thumb over the metal of his button.

"Not at all." he stepped his feet further apart and braced his hands on the back of the sofa at his sides. The pose was casual, but she could feel the tension radiating off of him. It was oddly endearing. Deciding to leave his shirt, for now, she flicked open the tab of his jeans and slowly eased the zip down. She glanced up at him as she pulled the denim down, knealing as she did so. Once they reached his ankles, she let her fingertips make the reverse journey up his thighs, the hair there tickling her palms, to the elastic band of his pants. She smiled at them, running her thumbs along the edges of the bulge in the middle.

"I never thought you'd be one for such colour." The cotton of his pants were yellow, the elastic band and stitching black. She'd figured she would find all black, or maybe grey. Navy would have been the most colour she would have expected.

"What's wrong with yellow?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Not a thing." she grinned up at him, running one hand up under his shirt to feel the tightening of his abdominals. He was hairy and hot and she could feel the dips and ridges of his muscles. She really wanted his shirt off. She could handle scars. The ones on his face didn't even bother her that much any more. He had one large scar on the inside of his left thigh, where it almost looked like a piece of his muscle was missing. It had to have been painful, but so had being burnt, she was sure. She got the feeling that a lot of his life had been like that. Painful. She didn't want to cause him any more. She only wanted to bring him pleasure. So she'd leave his shirt on for a while longer.

Leaning forward, holding him by his hips, she put her lips around the bulge of his cock and slowly breathed out, the heat of her breath seeping through the cotton. Above her, Sandor hissed, his hips flexing slightly as his body went tense. Pressing the flat of her tongue over him, she licked up to where the head of him was just visible and sucked him through the fabric.

"Gods." he breathed. "Fuck, Sansa. Take the bloody pants off."

She laughed and grazed him softly with her teeth as she pulled away. "As you wish, sir." she looked up at him. "This is your thanks after all."

"Sit back." he told her, his hands coming up to the band of his pants. Sansa did as he asked, sitting back on her heels, careful of the spikes. Holding her gaze, he reaching inside the band and lifted out his cock. Holding it in one hand, he pushed the underwear down to his knees where she took over and pushed them to his jeans at his ankles.

Dicks weren't pretty. Sansa was aware of that. The male anatomy wasn't aesthetically pleasing. But something about seeing him, hard and flushed nearly red, had her heart racing and her center aching. Maybe it was because it was the most vulnerable part of him. Not that it looked vulnerable. It looked big and almost angry. Much like the man it was attached to. He stroked it once, almost absently, then leaned back against the sofa again, clutching along it's back with both hands.

"It's not going to bite." he grinned at her slack jawed expression.

Snapping out of it, Sansa looked up at him and smiled. "I can't promise the same." she said, then grasped his erection and lifted it so she could rake her teeth gently along the underside of his shaft. A tremor went through his big body.

"Stop fucking teasing." he gritted out. "Or your going to end up with come all in your pretty red hair." he paused for a moment, then added, "And call me sir again."

Shocked, Sansa looked up at him again, her lips still pressed to his length. He stared down at her with molten silver eyes, daring her to argue, or daring her to agree. She couldn't deny the thrill that went through her at the thought.

"Yes, sir." she whispered, pulling his shaft away from his stomach again and stroking him softly. She kissed his tip, then pulled the foreskin back and took the head of him into her mouth, swirling her tongue around him.

"Fuck." he whispered, then his hands were in her hair. "Take it further." he applied gentle pressure onto the back of her head and she slid him into her mouth as far as she could, until he hit her throat. She had never been one for giving head, and hadn't done it in well over a year in any case, so she wasn't keen on deep throating. The fact she had a horrid gag reflex would mean he'd likely end up with sick all over his lap if he pressed her for it. Luckily he didn't apply any sort of force on her head that would make her take any more than she was comfortable with.

"Shite, that's good." he hummed. It made her smile. Sandor Clegane was humming. She wondered how many people had heard him hum. She sucked him like that for a little longer, then pulled him out to kiss down his length and give his balls a lick while she kept stroking his length.

"Do you want to come like this, sir?" she asked him. "Or should I just make you feel good?" There was a moment of silence after her question, presumably while he thought about his answer.

"Go ahead and get me off." he finally answered, his fingertips rubbing her scalp soothingly. "I can go again and I plan of fucking you until you can't walk tomorrow."

Did she have a thing for dirty talk? Come to think of it, she actually couldn't remember anyone actually talking much during sex. Not that she had a vast pool of experience to go off of, but still. Beyond simple things like 'more' or 'harder' or the occasional curse word, her partners sex talk was nilch. She should have guessed that Sandor would be different. He wasn't a silent man in everyday life, why would it have been any different when it came to coitus? And she liked it. A lot.

Moaning softly, she used every bit of her limited real life experience and vast theoretical knowledge to bring him to his knees. Or, close to it. She couldn't actually imagine a man like Sandor on his knees at all. He did however go tense as a board, his fingers clutching tightly in her hair as he let out a mantra of 'yes, fuck. Don't stop.' over and over again until he burst in her mouth. When he was finished and his hands dropped away from her head, she leaned back on her heels and swallowed, looking up at his somewhat dazed expression. It was the first time she'd ever seen him completely void of anger. It caused her breath to hitch.

"Do you have nosey neighbors?" His question, so out of context, confused her, so she simply furrowed her brow as she continued staring up at him. He chuckled and held out a hand for her to take, then pulled her to her feet.

"I'm going to make you scream, Sansa Stark. More than once." While he spoke, an arm went around her waist and pulled her flush against him, that hand delving into the back of her knickers and kneading one cheek while the other hand toyed with her nipple through her bra. "If you've got busy body neighbors, they may be worried. Just giving you fair warning in case the police show up banging on your door."

"You're awfully confident, aren't you?" she breathed.

"Maybe." he grinned. "Or I could be all talk. Wanna find out?"

Sansa laughed, then moaned when the hand on her backside slid between her thighs, a long, rough finger tracing her folds lightly. "Yes." she whimpered, clutching him tighter.

"Yes, what?" he rasped in her ear, his finger infuriatingly light on her center. It took her a long, lust hazed moment to figure out what he was wanting from her.

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl." he nipped her bottom lip, then pulled his hand free of her knickers. Before she could make a move, that same hand came down on her bottom, and not a teasing tap either. Her eyes flew wide and she looked at him with her mouth slightly open, trying to assimilate to the sensation. Did she enjoy that? The warmth from the sting was spreading between her legs and she was pretty sure the answer was yes. The way his hand was now smoothing over the offended cheek made her anxious.

"What...?"

"Now maybe you wont forget." he kissed her again. "I promise to make you like the pain, little bird."

"I think my knees are about to give out on me." she said in a needy little voice that would have Arya rolling her eyes.

"Best tell me where the bedroom is then." he hitched his arm tighter around her waist. "Unless you want me to fuck you against your living room wall."

A shiver raced down her spine and he laughed out loud. "I take that as a yes." his arm around her waist tightened even more and he stood up straight so her feet were dangling off the floor. A moment later her back was pressed to her living room wall. He sat her feet back on the ground and made short work of her bra, one nipple immediately engulfed in his warm mouth while his hands shoved her knickers past her hips. Sansa shifted her knees until they fell to her ankles, then kicked them off all while clinging to the back of his head, her back arching into his rough exploration of her breast. He worked her until she was verging on the edge of pain, then switched to the opposite breast and gave it the same attention.

"Gods." she whimpered. "Sandor, sir." he released her nipple with a wet pop and began kissing up her chest while one hand traced up her inner thigh to explore her folds. He taunted and teased, playing in the wetness he'd created. His head came up from her throat and he looked down at her. The wild, slightly unhinged look in his eyes caused her belly to flip.

"This all for me?" he asked, bringing his wet fingers up between their faces. Flushing, she bit her lip and nodded. In the question, guised as a taunt, she could hear the disbelief and the hint of wonder. He sucked two fingers into his mouth while holding her gaze. When he pulled them out, he teased her nipple with the wet digits.

"Or was it some pretty, rich prat that has this little cunt all juicy?" Sansa closed her eyes at his crass words, trying to convince herself the language wasn't turning her on. "Are you trying to picture him now?" he rasped along her ear. "Let me tell you something, little bird. There isn't a single one of those poofs that run around in your social circle that will make your pussy this wet." at that his hand went between her thighs and gave her lips a slap. Not hard, but enough to send a bolt of sensation through her clit.

"No, sir." she panted, her eyes opening to hold his gaze. "It's you. No one else. Please. Please, take me." she'd thought about saying 'fuck me' but couldn't bring herself to use that word. He seemed a little taken back by her words, then dove for her mouth and kissed her like a man starved while two fingers worked up inside her, curling, stroking, driving.

"I'm not sixteen anymore, Sansa." he growled against her lips. "It's going to take me more than five fucking minutes to get hard again. Give me ten more and I'll fuck you until you beg me to stop."

She opened her mouth to tell him alright, but he kissed her again. "Until then." he gave her a wicked smile and knelt down a little, both arms coming up under her bottom, then he stood straight again, boosting her up until her breasts were at his face and her center was pressed just under his chest. She started to wrap her legs around him, but he shook his head no. Curious, she watched as he leaned back, holding her to the wall with one forearm under her arse. His free hand cupped under one knee and lifted until it was hooked over his shoulder.

"Sandor." she panted, and he grinned, then did the same with the other. A gasp tore from her throat when his hands went to her hips and lifted her higher against the wall, her center right in his face. The position reminded her of how her dad used to carry her and the younger kids around on his shoulders when they were little, only she was facing the other way and her father was the furthest thing from her mind. Not when Sandor was leaning forward and burying his face between her thighs.

"Oh..." she let her head fall back against the wall and threaded both hands into his long hair. He was right. She couldn't imagine a single one of the high class gentleman she knew being able to do this. Not just the sheer strength it required, but the selfless giving of pleasure. Not once did a single trace of worry or fear of him dropping her cross her mind. She trusted him wholly to hold her and take care of her.

It didn't take a full ten minutes. More like five. Afterwards, when the mind numbing pleasure receded slightly she thought maybe the way she bowed her back against the wall made it harder for him to hold her, but he didn't complain and he showed no indication that it was a struggle for him to hold her up. Carefully, removing one leg at a time, he slid her boneless body back down the wall and it wasn't until she was back on her feet that she realized she was still wearing the heels. How porno.

For a long second, they just stared at each other. His hair was all over the place from her fingers, no longer covering his scars as fully. Oddly enough, that didn't bother her. Not when his lips were swollen from the attentions he'd given her, his skin shinny from her release.

"Thank you, sir." Her words brought out a feral grin from him a fraction of a second before his mouth descended on hers and he showed her just exactly what she tasted like.

 

*

 

Sandor generally was a man who liked planning. He wasn't a fly by the seat of his pants type of man. He liked order, craved stability and routine. But the second he entered Sansa's flat, he was just going with the moment. Sure, he had a pocket full of fantasies about the girl to work with, but he was mostly improvising. Like eating her out while she was pinned to the wall by his shoulders. That certainly wasn't planned, and it hadn't even been something he'd thought to fantasize about. It would be now, though. And the whole 'sir' thing. Again, it wasn't planned, but when she'd called him that, a title that had always driven him raging mad in the past, had sent a rush through him. Maybe it was because he had a woman like Sansa on her knees calling him it. A woman he'd made a life goal of knocking off her ivory tower in such a servile position, calling him something so...distinguished. He couldn't deny the power high it gave him.

After he graciously shared with her the bounty she'd bestowed to his face, he took a step back. "Your bedroom, Sansa." he rasped. He was mostly hard again and he wanted to feel just how tight she would be around him. She stared at him with a dazed expression for a beat, then grabbed his hand and started leading him down a short hallway after he grabbed a condom from the wallet in his discarded jeans. He grinned when he realized she still had her heels on. It was sexy, but vaguely pornesque. It made this all feel even more surreal.

When she led him into her room, he grasped her hips and walked her backwards until she was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Get me hard again." he told her, not ungently, and stepped close enough that she could reach his half mast cock. He'd leave it up to her how she would go about the task. "And kick off those damn shoes."

With a light laugh she toed her heels off then grasped his hips and pulled him just a little closer to her. Her hands were small, her fingers thin and delicate. They looked oddly out of place on his cock, but felt bloody amazing. Soft and sure, rubbing and rolling, stroking and teasing. She didn't use her mouth again, but it didn't really matter. Not when she was watching his face so closely, her blue eyes nearly black in the shadowed bedroom and her hot little hands occasionally cupping his balls. He wanted to turn on a light so he could see her better, but that would mean she could see him better also. She hadn't pressed the issue of taking his shirt off, which was honestly not something he was looking forward to. He knew she was expecting scars, but there was no way she could actually look at him and find enjoyment from it.

"That's enough, Sansa." he pushed her hands away from his now steel hard erection and started putting the condom on. "Push up to pillows."

"Will you take your shirt off?" she asked once she was leaning back. At his hesitation, she added, "Please, sir."

That did it, for some bloody reason. He couldn't deny her when she asked so prettily. He liked her begging him. Pulling off his shirt, he tried not to appear too anxious. She didn't say anything, only watched as he crawled up onto the bed to rest on his knees between her splayed thighs. It was too damn dark and now his body was blocking what little light was coming in from the open bedroom door. Pushing down his own insecurities, he leaned over and clicked on her bedside lamp, the soft light spilling across her gloriously naked body. Shite, she was bloody perfect, all ivory skin and womanly curves, a constellation of freckles dusting across her right breast. So lost in his perusal of her body, he hadn't realized her reaction to his. Not until one of those dainty little hands came up to trace the jagged, puckered flesh of the scar that ran from the top of his ribs and curved around to just under his navel. He held completely still, watching her facial expression as her eyes followed her fingers. They danced from that scar, to the burn scars that bloomed over his shoulder, to the other scars that dotted and marred his chest and stomach. Some where from street or pub brawls, others were from his time in the Royal Scots Army, but most were from the violent and traumatic childhood he'd endured and endeavored to forget.

To his surprise, she never once blanched in disgust or winced in horror. Her face stayed calm, even soft, as she touched the details of his sordid past. When she finally lifted her eyes to his, he couldn't detect an ounce of remorse or disgust.

"Sandor." she whispered his name, her hands reaching for him like a little babe reaching for it's mother. He fell to her without thought, burying his face in her shoulder while her hands smoothed over the skin of his back.

"Gods, Sandor." she arched her hips into him, her body squirming under him. "You feel so good. Please, inside me. Now, please." Sandor growled low in his chest and raised up on his arms to look down at her.

"How do you want it?" he nipped her bottom lip while he transferred his weight to one arm so he could play with her nipple. "Hard and fast or fast and hard?"

She laughed through a moan, her hands gripping his shoulders. "I don't care. Fast and hard? It doesn't matter, Sandor, just please. I want you."

Despite his words, he entered her slow and easy, letting her feel every inch of him and allowing himself to feel ever inch of her.

"Don't close your eyes." he rasped when her eyes fluttered shut when he was halfway in. "It won't be anyone else fucking you tonight, Sansa." he told her when she managed to look at him again. "It's me. Only me, and you'll look at me while I make you scream. You understand me, girl?"

"It's Sansa." she panted. "Call me Sansa. If you're the one fucking me tonight, then I'll be the one you're fucking. No one else, and you'll call me by my name."

Sandor felt his brow raise, surprised at her words, and her cursing.

"Good." he thrust the rest of the way inside her, hissing through his teeth when his hips slammed into hers. Sansa gasped in surprise, then let out a moan, her hips grinding up into his.

"Damn." he groaned. She was like a wet, velvet fist gripping him. Wet velvet that clung to him as he pulled out, like it didn't want to let him go. A few thrusts in, he hooked his forearm around the bend of her knee so he could go deeper and hold her still.

"That's it." he panted as she started to rock her hips to meet his every thrust. "Gods, Sansa. You feel so fucking good. So bloody tight and wet." he hitched his hips harder against hers and she groaned, her neck arching. He dropped his mouth to that slim column, licking her pulse point before putting his half ruined lips to her ear.

"You hear that, Sansa?" A whimper was his only answer.

"Listen to that noise." he grew quite so she could listen. The only sound was the faint wet sloshing of her cunt gripping him with every in and out thrust and the slap of his skin to hers.

"Hear that? Your sweet little pussy likes being fucked. It's singing for me. Will you sing for me too little bird?" He lifted up from her slightly so he could shove one arm under her hips, canting them so his pelvis made direct contact with the hardened bundle of her clit each time he entered her.

"Yes, sir." she panted, her nails gripping his shoulders even tighter. "Don't stop. I'm so close."

Wanting to see that, he lifted even more so he could watch her face. Her eyes met his immediately. Christ, she was pretty. All flushed and panting, her pupils blown so wide there was only a vague hint of blue around them.

"That's it, Sansa." he sped up just a little, rocking against her with every forward thrust. Her walls tightened around him, starting a slow undulation of preclimax.

"Come on, little bird." he panted, unsure how much longer he could hold out for her. "Come for me. Let me feel it. Show me how much your sweet little pussy likes my cock."

Back bowing, nails cutting into skin, Sansa whole body tensed around him, her walls gripping him so tightly he wasn't able to thrust any more. He kept rocking against her though, her walls feeling like beat of a hummingbirds wings around his length.

"Yes!" she almost shouted. "Oh, Gods. Sandor!" her body shook so hard it made the bed shake and he couldn't hold back a chuckle. He managed to hold on long enough for her to enjoy her climax completely before he slammed her back into the mattress and pounded into her until he found his own release.

For a long moment he couldn't coordinate his muscles enough to get them to move. Not that she seemed to mind, both arms wrapped around his shoulders holding him tightly. Once he regained his breath, and his mind, he pulled out of her and fell to the side. Sansa never let go of him, just followed him until she was snuggled up into his chest.

"I got to get up." he gently disentangled his limbs from hers.

"Are you leaving?" she asked softly, releasing him slowly.

"I've got to deal with the condom." he kissed her forehead. "I'll be right back." Finding her bathroom easily, he disposed of the rubber and cleaned himself up before wetting a rag and returning to find her in the same exact position he'd left her in. Rolled to the side, one arm and leg splayed out as if they were still draped over his body. Her hair was wild and tangled and she smiled sleepily at him when he handed her the rag. She looked well and thoroughly fucked.

"Should I leave now?" he asked her bluntly. He wasn't up for vague suggestions or awkward miscommunications.

"No." she shook her head and pulled the blankets back. "Please stay, sir." Sandor chuckled as he climbed into the bed next to her.

"You can drop the 'sir' shite now. I only like that during sex."

"Okay." she kissed her scarred shoulder and arranged one leg and one arm over his body as she snuggled down into him. It was an odd experience to have someone want to be that close to him. None of his pervious bed partners ever had, not that he would have allowed it before. For a long time neither of them spoke. Her fingers ran up and down his chest and abs, drawing nonsensical patterns on his skin while he awkwardly ran his fingers through her hair.

"Are you going to tell Bronn about tonight?" she asked without looking at him.

"Not yet." he shrugged. "Might as well collect my Bell's before that happens."

Sansa giggled and hugged him tighter. "How would you like to drink your Bell's in a French chateau while I enjoy my bottle of Riesling?"

He went still for a moment, taking in what she said. "Are you asking me to go to France with you?"

Her head lifted so she could look up at him. "Only if you want to, but I for one think France would be much more fun with someone to warm my bed while I'm there."

Sandor didn't have to think about that for very long. "Aye, I'll go with you. But your bed isn't all I'll be warming." He reached back and playfully slapped her naked bum.

Sansa gasped, then giggled. "Mmm. I'm looking forward to it."

"So am I, little bird." he pulled her closer to him. "So am I."


End file.
